Am I Doing It “Write”?

Ok, Drea… now you must write.
In spite of all the things you try to do right—write.

Let unworthiness weep virtue and value it true,
if that’s how it rings for you.

Write until your rights right wrongs so wrong it feels right.
Write run-ons.
Let them run on and on, meandering whims wrestling with the words that don't sound right.

Wrong!
Rogue.

Words that wreak havoc—hands holding up hell, hot and hacking rage.
Rubbing up against and into lost ritual,
ramshackle factions on reverent rigs,
weapons for knee-jerk reactions.

Fear follows the foot, just steps from fascination.
Procrastination pauses for question marks and periods—
sentence shades of harmony and funk,
those old-time blues blurred grey.

My eyes sunk.
Steady hand.
Hot head.

In the end, I gave up grammar
to meet myself in those moments of rust and grit—
and ugly contraction knots of not sounding good.

Great! Holy! Outstanding!

Outside the lines hide the humble freaks
carrying the cadence of those songs we sang at summer camp.

Calling all you creatures to the stage!

Carrying creaky jargon through flocks flying up beside geese,
lay mermaid tails down—
and the things you do become more profound.

Right?! Wrong!

You get to start at perfection,
where the first section is but a spinning top:
a body wild and freeing up space for the blood to flow.

A hearty erection spins and swirls and cycles back inside its skin
after splaying all out.

My best friend got fired.
Yours can’t seem to deal.
I spend hours in solitude
where I peel lesser off and into my own self.

I'm okay—it’s just how I feel.

I have some friends that live in the sea
and others that travel astrally.
Me?
I am nailed to the moment right now—
its pinky pad pressing down on hardwood,
heels harnessing the weight of your words
as they stair-step the backside of my ribs
and slide along my outer ridges.

A paragraph.
A whole body.
Wild and freeing up space for the spirit to pace.

Boldly erase.
Delete and retrace—
navels, spines—
sweetly swirling and cycling back inside
as this ride plays out…

All the while,
I get to choose what I scrawl about.